Page 53 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Temperance’s borrowed half boots crunched through the thin layer of snow on the cobblestones melting in the morning sun.

They were too big and rubbed against the already raw skin of her heels.

She’d asked Grace to give her the poorest clothes they might spare in exchange for her better clothes, wanting to disguise herself.

That was her only hope to get into the office of Mr. Barton unscathed.

The streets of Cheapside were empty save for the occasional merchant’s cart making early deliveries.

Above the rows of imposing buildings, housing banks, shops, and solicitors’ offices, the sky stretched out pale blue with fluffy white clouds passing slowly by.

It was cheerful weather for Christmas Day and her twenty-first birthday, but there was no joy in Temperance.

On the contrary, a heavy anxiety churned her stomach.

As she turned the corner of the street, the sight of Mr. Barton’s office had her throat tightening with fear. Before the brick building with white sash windows waited Lady Auster and Lord Bartholomew Langston surrounded by a dozen footmen, as though it were a treasury, and she were an enemy’s army.

Her stomach dropped. It was worse than she’d imagined. How in the world would she be able to get to Mr. Barton through all those men?

Temperance supposed she could try to pretend to be one of the maids and enter at the side of the building. There was almost no chance they would let her through, though, especially as both Lady Auster and Bartholomew would recognize her right away.

There was also a group of five men gathered on the other side of the street with notebooks and pencils at the ready. Oh, good Lord, help her. Had Lady Auster summoned reporters from the newspapers to witness what she’d planned to be Temperance’s final humiliation?

How would she sneak in without anyone gathered noticing?

As though having overheard her fears, the wind blew a harsh gust. Her bonnet, barely secured by a ribbon hanging from a single thread, flew off her head. A footman looked in her direction and pointed.

And everyone’s eyes fell on her.

Temperance stood rooted to the spot, her heart hammering so violently they must have heard it across the street.

The familiar panic she’d learned to observe like clouds in the sky now crashed over her like a breaking wave, a terror she could no longer ignore.

Cold spread through her spine and her throat closed.

Every muscle in her body screamed for her to run, but her legs felt leaden and numb.

She stepped back as Lady Auster called, “Get her!”

The fraction of pure reason she still had guided her.

With shaking hands, Temperance reached into her reticule and took out the rabbit fur and a piece of amber.

Anything could be procured in Whitechapel…

for a price. Grace had covered the cost, and Temperance had promised to repay her if she could.

She vigorously rubbed the amber against the fur until it crackled.

With satisfaction, she watched the faces of the men, her stepmother, and Bartholomew frown in concern.

But it didn’t stop the footmen who were rushing towards her.

Temperance lifted the jar of water from her reticule in her left hand and brought the charged amber to the nail head in the cork.

A tiny spark jumped between the stone and the metal as electric fluid cracked.

At the sight of the small lightning bolt the footmen stopped, staring at her with fear as Lady Auster gasped.

A familiar tingle ran up Temperance’s arm.

The Leyden jar was charged.

“Stay right there,” she called, holding the jar out before her, advancing on them. “Just let me pass to Mr. Barton’s office. I won’t harm you.”

“Do not let her pass!” Lady Auster cried shrilly.

Temperance held it out higher, coming closer to the footmen step after step. “Do you know what happened to the last man who tried to capture me?”

The footman hesitated, glancing back at Lady Auster.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Agatha,” Lady Auster cried with clear fury. “Put away your silly toy.”

“This ‘toy’ contains enough electric fluid to cause the strongest of men excruciating pain,” Temperance lied, emboldened by the footman’s uncertainty. “Just ask Lady Auster.”

“I’m not afraid of a little spark,” said one of the younger footmen. “If women get kissed with it, how bad can it be?”

He ran at her and Temperance’s heart jumped in her throat. Her bluff had been called; she would get only one charge, and once gone, the jar would be useless unless she generated electric fluid again.

She held the jar by its glass body. When the man was upon her, she thrust the metal nail towards him and squeezed her eyes from pure terror, not knowing exactly where it would connect.

There was a loud crack and a yelp, then footsteps receding.

No one had grasped her or tugged her to a carriage.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the back of the man running away.

None of them knew she no longer had a weapon, and had no other plan except for rubbing the amber against the fur again—but that would do nothing but create a little electrical fluid.

Hoofbeats thundered somewhere on her right and a cavalry charged down the parallel street. Seven riders and a carriage behind them, racing hard.

Temperance’s spirits rose. At the front rode Octavius on his familiar stallion, just as he had that first night when she’d thought him chased by demons. But now he was her white knight, his wild eyes fixed on her across the distance, his face flushed with determination as he came closer.

Octavius brought his stallion to a halt mere yards away, directly across the road from the footmen, the horse’s breath creating clouds of vapor that rose as if from a mythical beast. His eyes never left Temperance.

“You should leave, Your Grace,” declared her stepmother. “This does not concern you. This girl must be dealt with.”

Octavius looked at where Lady Auster was pointing, and his eyes locked with Temperance’s from across the street. He had come for her. From the carriage descended the Duchess of Pryde, the Duchess of Luhst, and even the pregnant Duchess of Rath.

“Temperance!” called Modesty and waved her hand. “Come on—come here, to us!”

The seven dukes, even the Duke of Enveigh, who must be cross with her, were there. It was the support Temperance had always wanted.

Octavius pulled out a pistol and so did the Duke of Enveigh. The rest of the dukes stood with no weapons but were clearly ready to fight.

“Take her! Take her!” cried Lady Auster, and three footmen ran towards her.

She couldn’t win this. Not now and not alone.

But she’d always been alone. Alone was the safety she’d known for years.

Run. Hide. Trust no one , the familiar voice of survival whispered in her mind. It had kept her alive through the months of loneliness after her papa’s death. She could listen to it, turn around, and disappear into the London streets again. Find another way to reach Mr. Barton.

But as the footmen closed in, a new voice sounded in her head.

Octavius spoiled her with food and attention, didn’t he?

He never looked at her talking about science with anything but wonder in his eyes.

He made himself vulnerable to her, confided in her about his childhood, revealed to her his trouble with reading French and asked for her help.

He even proposed matrimony, still thinking she was nothing but a governess.

Did that not prove something else entirely?

And the others. In his own way, the Duke of Enveigh had been on her side all along.

Modesty must have told her husband she found Temperance.

Even the other two duchesses had come to help her.

Didn’t the three of them invite her to join their scientific club, admiring her work instead of condemning it?

And the children…dearest Margaret, James, and Sophie. James had helped her several times.

And even before that, didn’t Grace at the almshouse give her shelter and warm clothes? Mr. Barton had promised to help her claim her inheritance, and his mother had offered sanctuary. Even Banister and Mrs. Jones had risked Lady Auster’s wrath to help her retrieve the pawn ticket.

Temperance had been telling herself she was alone. But she felt lonely not because the world lacked heart and kindness, but because she kept people at arm’s length so they couldn’t hurt her. She’d been dismissing everyone, even those who had been genuinely trying to help.

For the first time in her life someone had come to stand beside her and help her get what she wanted. A whole army of people, in fact.

The old Temperance would run. The old Temperance would dismiss them.

But the old Temperance had never known what it might be like to belong to a large family.

The three footmen were closing in and behind them was Lady Auster’s triumphant face. Across the street, Octavius stood with wild eyes and a heaving chest, having ridden through London like a man possessed to reach her.

The choice wasn’t between running away or running towards him. It was between a lifetime of fear and a lifetime of love. Between the safety of solitude and the terrifying possibility of finding a true home.

Temperance’s gaze locked with Octavius’s. There he was, big and solid, striking and familiar, the man she loved.

Love . I have to choose love.

Him.

She broke into a run. Not away to hide, but towards the man she loved.

In half a breath, Temperance had crossed the street and fallen straight into his open arms. He enveloped her in his embrace, into his scent of male, sandalwood, and vanilla.

She looked up into his warm brown eyes, glittering with love. “You should not ride like a madman,” she berated him, while a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You could put someone in danger.”